


and if I shiver, please give me a blanket

by wintervioleteye (hawkguyed)



Series: one out of many and all of them the same [10]
Category: Bourne Legacy (2012), James Bond (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Aaron Cross is Clint Barton-verse, Bond is a flirt end of story, Gen, M/M, Sex on legs people, all the crossovers, but apparently I did, crossovers, i know i said I wouldn't write Bourne-fic, welcome to Project Outcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkguyed/pseuds/wintervioleteye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only James is young enough and brash enough to do something like this, especially when this involves inter-agency relationships and an agent suffering from amnesia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. no-one knows what it's like to feel these feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vampirekilmer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirekilmer/gifts).



> Feelschat spawned this. The whole, Bourne/Bond thing. SO. I now have a reason for writing this. Plus throwing it into the Barton-verse. 
> 
> Title is from a song by 'The Who', called 'Behind Blue Eyes'. Sorta fitting-ish.

He first meets him as a fleeting glance through a window as they race across the rooftops, the blond man’s blue-grey eyes seeming boring into his soul. He’s running then, Aaron has Stephanie by the hand and the expanse of roof tiles has opened a five feet wide gap.

Aaron thinks he sees the man nod almost imperceptibly before he tears his gaze away.

The jump seems to take forever, and he catches Stephanie before she slips, pulling her away from the ledge. He pushes Stephanie in front of him as they put a few more steps between them and their pursuers. Aaron can hear their shouts, and they have to move fast if they’re going to escape with their lives.

But something tugs at him, a desire to look back to that window just to see the rugged man with his piercing eyes.

Aaron chances it, a quick look up. The window is empty, its curtain flapping in the slight breeze, but Aaron doesn’t feel disappointed. He just has a feeling that this won’t be the last time he sees that man.


	2. i have hours, only lonely

The next time Aaron meets him he’s not running. There are no girls in tow, no rooftops, just him and a duffle slung over his shoulder. Instead he sports a dully throbbing bullet-wound that had been hastily patched up and a fresh bruise on his temple, tired lines etched into his face as he tries to make his way to a safe place to hide and lick his wounds. 

Aaron almost doesn’t recognize those piercing eyes through his exhaustion, nearly stumbling past his blue-eyed stranger until a firm grip closes over his arm. 

It’s a testament to how tired he is when he doesn’t even put up a fight. Recognition comes two steps late as the blond man practically manhandles him out of the alleyway and into a car, and Aaron voices a half-muffled groan when the hand on his shoulder comes too close to tender flesh. 

He thinks he passes out in the car, exhaustion and the small comfort of soft, cushioned seats winning over deeply ingrained paranoia. 

The room is dark when he wakes again, the sheets tucking him in soft and gentle against his bare skin. The makeshift bandage on his shoulder is gone, replaced with a proper, neatly clipped-in-place one that has bare patches of crimson showing on the snow white fabric. 

Aaron shifts, sitting up slowly. 

There’s a figure seated at the far end illuminated by Budapest’s setting sun, the gun in his hands occasionally reflecting a glint of light. A long-buried memory tugs at Aaron, another man in a suit watching over him with a slightly worried expression, and Aaron shakes his head to try and clear his foggy thoughts. 

“Awake?” 

It comes back to him, those piercing blue eyes of the man at the window, the same blue eyes he had seen just as he’d been bundled into the car. 

There’s a soft thud of a firearm being set down as the man stands, and the soft footfalls of feet on a carpeted floor as he pads over. It’s like watching a large cat; the blond moves with a type of feral grace that makes a shiver run up Aaron’s spine as he acknowledges a blooming attraction to the nameless stranger who had patched him up. 

“Who are you?” 

Aaron can see him clearly now in the light of the setting sun, pale blue eyes shadowed under his brow and hints of stubble along his jaw. 

The sliver of attraction that had settled in his stomach sparks again, more insistent this time.

A hand is thrust into his field of vision. “Bond. James Bond.”


	3. my dreams aren't as empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summarized into: ALL THE FEELS. Okay uhm. Have fun.

The other side of the bed is empty when Aaron wakes. Clean sheets are draped haphazardly over his frame, a pillow tucked under his head, and the warm nest is already starting to lull him back to sleep. 

He shakes his head to clear it a little, glancing around to look for his gracious host. 

His sleep-hazed eyes can make out James’ form, a shadow blending into the night sky. It’s only because of dim glow of his cigarette that Aaron sees him leaning against the balcony rails, the dim light of the room’s only lit lamp barely reaching his feet. 

He sits up, watching as James’ takes a few steps out of the balcony and back into the room, letting light spill over his features.. 

Aaron has no warning for the sudden wave of wrong that hits him and sends him reeling. 

_It should be Phil_ , a tiny portion of his mind screams, not this rugged blond man with piercing blue eyes. Aaron lets out a strangled sound as a deeply buried part of his mind replaces blue with grey and short-cropped blond with receding black, the slightly cruel smirk on James’ features replaced with a kind but stern smile. 

James’ lips are moving as he strides across the room, cigarette abandoned on the balcony rail, but Aaron doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t really see him either, his mind having transported him to another place where the sky is the pale red-and-gold of a morning sunrise, where it’s another man in James’ place clad in an old, worn hoodie that belongs to him, where- 

“Aaron!” 

His eyes snap open, met by James’ blue ones. There is concern there, concern mixed with something else that he can’t quite identify, not when his own mind is still playing tricks on him. 

“Just a nightmare. Just a-” 

But a different voice rings in his mind, the voice of the man he’d briefly glimpsed.

_“Snap out of it, Barton.”_

It feels as if his limbs are made out of lead as Aaron stumbles out of bed, half tangled in the sheets. The concern in James’ eyes have now shifted into part worry part confusion, but Aaron can’t quite bring himself to be alarmed. All he wants to do right now is to put some distance between himself and the suit-clad man who somehow makes him recall bits and pieces of another life. 

The clothes he’d been wearing are folded on the chair, and Aaron fumbles as he pulls them on. He can feel James’ eyes on his back, watching him like a hawk. 

A hawk. Something about that term resonates with something buried away inside him, and Aaron suddenly feels sick. 

His voice sounds cracked when he speaks, clutching the duffel that had been sitting beside the door the minute he’s dressed. “I have to go.” 

Aaron doesn’t look back.


End file.
